The Ice Prince
by Saphie Virgo
Summary: Perhaps that scoundrel prince had a secret of his own...
1. Chapter 1

The Ice Prince

The night was just starting to fall, a blanket of darkness covering the sea, stars drifting down to the earth. The mighty vessel, a sturdy built trade ship en route to the Southern Isles, had just settled to drift for the night, letting the winds carry them the rest of the way home whilst the crew slept. The main deck was silent. A lone sailor stood watch at the wheel, thought he drifted in and out of consciousness. As far as the crew was concerned, they would be safe for the night. They were in neutral territory, a strip of sea unharmed by warships and pirates, and the mid summer evening promised serene sailing at least until morning. It was the perfect moment for the prince to act.

Deep in the lower decks of the ship sat the damned prince, chained away in a dark and damp cell, fatigued from lack of food, and nearly sick from the rolling waves beneath him. But though the night dragged on, he refused to sleep. He sat curled in his sell, waiting for the last footsteps to creak the wood above him. And when all was still, he made his move.

The young and lonesome sailor standing guard by the wheel was nearly off to dreamland when he felt the first cold wind all summer nip at his arms. It meant nothing to him in his half conscious state, he simply adjusted the the straps on his coat and tucked his arms into his chest. There was nothing odd or unusual about it until the second wind curled in, this one stronger than the first. The sailor sat upright and looked around, unsure of what was going on but instinctively alarmed.

Next came the footsteps, a pair of boots up the stairs leading below deck. The sailor rose from his post nervously, his hands going to his sword in defense.

"Who goes there?" he ventured, heart pounding in his chest. It was followed by silence, which was far more unsettling than any answer he could have received. He crossed to the stairs and drew his sword just as he noticed something white crawl up the stairs to the main deck. _ But it can't be… _

"This ship is changing it's course." a deep, though weak, voice from below deck demanded, the wind carried the summer warmth no longer, but bit now with icy teeth. The sailor didn't want to believe it. It was summer. Just that afternoon the water was warm enough to swim and the sun was close enough to bake the sailor's skin a rosy pink.

"I only follow orders from my captain." the sailor's voice shook. Ice crawled from up the stairs and slid slick beneath his feet. He struggled to keep his balance, while his courage slipped away altogether. Snowflakes drifted in from the sky, gentle and contradictory to the anxiety that ravaged the poor young sailors heart and mind. The voice below replied first with a dark and bellowing chuckle.

"Your captain's rather…indisposed at the moment." It was then that the mysterious voice was revealed. A figure with deep auburn hair rose to the top of the stair case. He was clad in a uniform that spoke either of regimental or royal authority and hung loosely on a weak and seemingly drained body. His face was gaunt from malnourishment—he represented any sea washed prisoner. It was the prince. And though he was weak from days aboard that ship without proper food or exercise, he struck fear into the sailor's heart. Not because of his death-like appearance, _likely_ from his bright green eyes, glowing in rage, or the fact that this was a man guilty of murder conspiracy and no longer locked in the cell below the ship (his shackles still hung from his wrists with broken chains) but for the most part, it was due to of a mysterious twist in the story.

It was the first time the young sailor had seen the prince without his gloves—he was sure of it. Even curled up in that dingy cell, the man would not part with them and many crew members noticed the oddity and would gossip extensively about it when they weren't around him. One could expect the sailors shock to find the prince without his gloves alone. But what was more than just the gloves was the cold, white swirls that danced from his fingertips, the growing daggers of ice or the heavy chilly winds that moved at his command.

"If you don't turn this thing around," the prince tested, as the ice from the ground began to crawl up the sailor's leg. "I may have to do it myself."


	2. Chapter 2

The king gripped his son at the shoulders, leading —no— pushing him down the hallway to his room. He worried for the tightness of his grasp, he wanted to hold tight enough so the boy wouldn't escape from his hands, but still he feared how hard he could push before the boy would react again. The boy could have been no older than eleven or twelve, but by this point, he was the most dangerous in the kingdom. At last, the pair reached the young prince's room.

"Sit." his father demanded, and the boy did as he was told and sat on his bed without a word. He too was afraid, kicking his legs nervously against the edge of the bed. It was his father's scowl that really hit him. The boy knew from experience the scowl was the signifier of a force not to be reckoned with. "Now, look me in the eye and tell me this is all a trick!" The hesitated his response, he looked to the ground. "Tell me!" the king bellowed.

"I didn't know that I—"

"No, I refuse to have it all go on this long. You're just like your older brothers. So insensitive, completely unknowing when a joke _goes too far._ Someone has been seriously injured!" the king marched closer to his son. The boy clutched the blankets beneath him in anxiety.

"Who? Who's been hurt?" The boy squeaked.

"Not so funny anymore isn't it?" he moved, rather cautiously, to sit next to his son and observe his reactions. He deemed it safe enough, finding the boy was just as scared as he was. "Now, just tell me how you did it all and we can make sure no one else gets hurt."

"I don't know how I did it! It just happened! I don't…I just…"

"That's not good enough!" the king growled. "What on earth did you do?"

"I DON'T KNOW." I boy screamed in fear from his father's blankets he was gripping turned to ice and a blast of snow pushed his father against the wall. The boy gasped at the size of his strength.

His father stared back at him in fear. He wanted to reclaim his authority, but also feared what else the boy could do. Despite wishing he could just command the boy to stay in his room, the king simply darted from the room in mere seconds, slamming the door behind him.

The young prince, having witness his father flee from him in fear, now left alone to face the monstrous power he'd been cursed with, sank to his knees and started to cry. As the tears ran down his face, so did a small dusting of snow drifting practically from nothing but the ceiling of his room, just over his head.

The boy hadn't known when it all started, or how it all got to be so big, he knew that one day, when he was very, very, little, he could touch things and turn them to ice, or let little flurries of snow rain from the sky, even on a hot summer day. He thought it was harmless, at some times even fun, so when a royal family of a neighboring country came to dine with his, he thought they'd find just as fun as he did.

_ Someone has been seriously injured_. The words rang in his head, desperate for an explanation, causing the temperature in his room to drop. In all his years of knowing this little trick, he never would have thought something so whimsical could ever cause _harm_ to anyone. And what would be the prince to pay?

The prince sat upright in his bed, shaking a fresh layer of snow from his platinum white hair. The room was quiet, like a town after a heavy snowfall. It was odd, he was so used to the wild clamor of young boys —his twelve older brothers— up and down the halls outside his room. He was just surprised any of them had gone this long without obnoxiously banging on his door. He liked to think at least one of them would have thought to check up on him. Sniffling, and wiping icy tears from his face, the prince rose to his feet and opened his door to peer out the hallway.

The hallway that ran right past his door was wide. Enough so five men could walk abreast without touching the wall that hung intricate pairings and expensive tapestries. The ceiling was high and embellished with gold to compliment the royal red carpet below, boasting of his family's riches. And it was completely empty.

"Hello?" his voice echoed through the hall. He stepped out of his room cautiously, swearing he was calm but his powers saw right through this and chilled the air around him. He proceeded to the dining hall, where he'd been escorted ever so forcefully away from his family as well as a visiting family from a neighboring kingdom.

The visiting family was also royal, a king and queen from a country whose name the young prince had trouble pronouncing, and their daughter a charismatic and dark haired, freckled girl, who wasn't much older than he.

"Hello?" The boy's voice rang again down the silent hall failing to meet a response. This only made him more nervous. He clenched his fists. Surely this was all just a misunderstanding. A playful trick! What else could be expected of a young boy? No one in the castle had any reason to fear him. The prince's heart was beating faster, and tears were making their return welling up in his eyes like the tightening anxiety growing stronger still in his chest when his his ear caught a faint patter of footsteps in the distance. The boy's stumble down the hall increased in speed, his eyes searching desperately for the source, as he wandered in the direction of the footsteps. At the end of the hallway he found Helene, his old wet nurse, carrying a handful of embroidered linens. As soon as she was in his sights he rushed to her and wordlessly embraced her, and sobbed into her shoulder.


End file.
